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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

~Rated R For Graphic Content~

(That title means if you know me personally and want to continue having a relationship in which you can look me in the eyes without blushing--stop reading now.)

Now that I have my new rated R website, I have decided to fess up with some rated R information. I am confessing because I am hoping to hear that I am not abnormal, this happens to other women.

So.

The Fall semester is wrapping down and that means there are final tests to take. The final test are not to be confused with "The Final"--that is two weeks away. But this is the final exam in which I get to see how well I am doing. I am doing so well that I have diarrhea and a migraine and...

...and? I have sexy dreams about my professors.

They are weird sexy dreams because the professors are not exactly sex dream material. And sometimes? It's a female professor.

It happens to me every semester: The professor that I am most intimidated by shows up in my dreams.

Let us say, just for example, that I was going to take an astronomy test that has me anxious. I need a good grade because good grades fill a void in my heart, sort of like the Grinch's heart was filled when he gave the presents back to the villagers. (Except not like that because the Grinch's heart grew by giving back the presents. But my heart isn't going to grow, because it is already a great big size. But it has pockets that need to be filled with good grades. )

In pursuit of the good grades, I study and try to memorize random facts in a rhymy fashion (I have a great song for the planets in the solar system). I crawl into bed still thinking random facts and I drift off to sleep.

But I get to just that spot of sleep where I am not sure if I am asleep or awake, and then Martin rolls into my back and curls his arms around my mid-section. He nuzzles my shoulder with his unshaved chin and breathes in my ear.

He says something like, "HII regions have temperatures of around 10,000K."

And that is when I swoon.

I wiggle the back of myself closer to the front of hisself and he whispers in my ear, " HII regions are generally found in the spiral arms of the galaxy."

I pull his hand off my rib-cage and bring it to my lips so that I can taste his fingers and he continues giving me facts that cause me to twine my legs around his and to arch my head so that his lips can get closer to my throat.

Then he starts talking about dark nebulas and interstellar dust matter, in my professors voice. It's hits my erotic spot and I roll over. And he rolls over; he presents me with his back: The back I have been rubbing for fifteen years, I know the mole pattern and the muscularity. I know the texture and the scent of his skin. I run my hands over him and then lean over him so that I can let my hair trail over his skin. I swirl my head around so that my hair caresses his side, neck, back, stomach.

"Nebulosity provides the seed material for new stars."

And now I am ready for the take down. I reach my hand towards the front of him and he says, "blah blah (sexy professor voice) blah blah...creating a zone of avoidance."

That's when I realize that it is my professor in my bed. It isn't an awkward situation (as you might think it would be). I simply dismount and lay my head down on my pillow and look into the eyes of my professor who goes on, "Dust clouds hide our view of regions beyond the Milky Way." I listen to him/her lecture for awhile. Then I turn over and nestle my back into the curves of Martin's body.

I haven't taken many psychology classes, but I think my dreams means that I find education HUGELY satisfying.

It also means that after having such a dream it is hard not to blush when the professor says the word, "bulge" or "a non-zero chance for penetration."

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